


Come What May

by japansace



Series: My Love, We Deserve the Softest Eternity [12]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: + magic, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Elves, Found Family, King Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Minor Character Death, Queen Yuuri Katsuki, ssssshhhhh covers my readers with a band-aid, there all better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: It was a tragedy, by all accounts.





	Come What May

**Author's Note:**

> I was only meant to write down some notes.
> 
> I WAS ONLY MEANT TO WRITE DOWN SOME NOTES.
> 
> Victor: 4265  
Yuuri: 4225  
Yuri: 0
> 
> ///
> 
> Victor: 4780  
Yuuri: 4740  
Yuri: 515

It was a tragedy, by all accounts.

A twist of fate. The goddess displeased—or else something out of her control.

A young elven mother, with hair like the sun. She ran fingers over her belly as it swelled, the whole of Woodland cooing after her, catering to her every whim. The kingdom seemed to glow with the news of her expectancy, shining in a new light. Fruits tasted sweeter; the snow fell softer; the fire in its hearths warmed them all over, as the winter came to an end.

The father, a well-respected member of the community, sought to do what all those had done before him: venture out to find a stone worthy of the mother and child, which would then be crafted into a betrothal necklace to be given to the child’s intended upon them finding the one they wished to pledge their eternity to.

It was their custom: to tote it in their pocket all their days, to then drape it over the head of whomever they found worthy of it.

The father had left Woodland to complete the task, hoping to enlist the help of dwarves, who above all other races could recognize the quality of ore, offer a gem that would both glitter and shine. It was his duty to do so: find something that would honor the effort of the mother, complement the future strength and beauty of the child.

And he indeed found the perfect stone: a prized obsidian from the heart of a volcano, black as night but shiny as the moon. The father had recruited a blacksmith to shape it, tuck it between gold wiring so that it might stay in place around the neck of his child’s future beloved, just as his own necklace adorned his wife’s breast.

When the blacksmith was finished with it, he tucked it into the saddle bag of his mount and began the long trek back to Woodland, eager to once again see his love’s shining face. The baby was due within the month, and the thought encouraged him to ride harder, ride _faster._ The reins pressed marks into his palms, heels pushed pointedly into the side of the mare.

He was just nearing the Strait of Sea-Sun, where the divide of elven kingdoms became thin and nebulous, when a sound drew his attention over his shoulder: a banging sort of noise, like that of a gong.

Over the hill, he caught a glimpse of it: a skirmish between orcs and humans. The noise had apparently originated from a weapon coming down upon a shield, both sides putting up a valiant fight.

It was then he decided to go over to inspect, perhaps offer his aid. But in looking behind him, he’d wandered too close to the strait, his horse kicking up water where her hooves were beginning to sink into the sand.

He jerked—overcorrected—and the mare bucked, letting out a ghastly whinny as she reared to her back legs.

And he fell.

It was a one-in-a-million chance: falling at just the right angle in so that the back of his neck connected with a rock—not soft sand—and contorted the bone with a violent snap. The spinal cord was severed, the blood to the higher faculties cut off. He floundered for a moment—his elven spirit rushing to revive him—but the lack of air soon caught up to him, and he fell, lifeless, into that cool water at the edge of kingdoms.

The horse circled around, pulling hooves up from the surf, and waited on the beach where her rider lay. She nosed at his face, as though willing him to rouse from sleep, but he wouldn’t—and wouldn’t ever again.

The battle that had so drawn his attention ended, with the humans coming out on top, if not a bit scathed. A woman warrior was sent out to secure the perimeter, as not to be taken off-guard again. It is there that she found an elf’s body, rolling to and fro in the waves.

It was a particularly bad omen. Most humans didn’t glimpse a single elf in their entire lifetime, let alone one that had passed on to the next world. But she raided the elf’s saddle bag—after calming the horse attached to it—and found signs of Woodland, as well as a custom necklace that was most certainly a gift, and decided it was worth the trek to the elven domain, if only to inform them of their loss.

Upon entering the forest, she was immediately accosted by elven guards who recognized the horse, the pattern on her saddle and bridle. Recounting the tale, she was led straight into the heart of the kingdom, past the silvery veil of Woodland that sequestered their residents away.

And brought right before their king and queen.

The kingdom was under new management—or well, new enough for elves. Less than a thousand years. Here the warrior met King Victor and Queen Yuuri, who listened to her story with wet eyes and caught throats. When she held the obsidian betrothal necklace up to the light, it seemed all at once too much for the queen, who tucked his face against the other’s shoulder with a wretched sob.

Death was a foreign concept to elves, who passed so very rarely. The loss of one of their own could start a mourning process that spanned millennia.

At the end of her recitation, the monarchs thanked her, quiet in their shock. They let her fold the necklace into one of their open palms, paid her for her journey there and her kindness in delivering the news and burying their comrade. They informed her of the reason for the elf’s journey, recounting that the baby had actually already been born, early and unbeknownst to the father. They acknowledged the need to tell the mother of the father’s demise, then sent the warrior on her way.

On her way out of the forest, she heard the tail end of a wail, so piercing she had to hold hands to her own ears to block it out.

It was the only way an elf could die on their own: of a broken heart. A slow, withering death that carved out the chest cavity, filled the mind with static. The elements would beat against them like they never knew before, the cold, colder; the heat, like the surface of the sun. The breaths came quick and shallow, the elf writhing in their bed. Tears fell without ceasing, and the muscles snapped and popped, sinew atrophying beneath the skin. All the while, a baby whimpered in its crib, roiling in sympathetic pain.

Finally, after many a sleepless night, the mother’s suffering was no longer.

The child was left, with only a name: Yuri, after the queen the mother had so adored. He was thin and lithe like his mother, not at all fat like babies were meant to be. His mother’s ordeal had taken a toll on him, though of course no mortal means could end him. Still, he fussed for touch—for love—and while the community had banded together to see him through to adulthood, he still needed a place of residence, some sense of regularity.

“He bears my name. It only seems right, doesn’t it?”

Victor couldn’t agree more.

So that golden-haired child was gifted to them, growing up well under his new parents’ tutelage. He was a strong-willed boy—eager to prove himself—and most of all happy, fitting easily into his mother’s arms, his father’s side. He ran the halls of the castle on sure legs, was doted on by fellow elves whenever he ventured out. He could be stubborn and unruly if he put his mind to it, but what child couldn’t? His hair grew long with the years.

Then it came time to tell him of his origin.

It was a burden Victor and Yuuri didn’t take lightly. In this world of elves, mourning could turn deadly. As he began to hunt and forage, train with weapons and discover his talent, they finally sat him down and told him, their little prince.

“I had a feeling." 

This was surprising most to Yuuri, who had tried best he could to stay out of his son’s mind, to respect his privacy. “Why did you not tell us?”  
  
The boy shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “What does it matter?”  
  
The parents had to chuckle at that. Ah, their Yuri.

He then surprised them again by abdicating the throne.

“I don’t want it.”  
  
And they respected his wishes.

Likely, he knew some day they would have their own children together, when he was grown. Children that would care more for Woodland itself and not want to stray out of it, to find adventure. So he left his parents to their own devices and kept to his training, growing in stature and maturity, learning ice from his father and strategy from his mother.

All for the day when he’d finally, _finally_ be able to use it.

* * *

“Let’s go,” Otabek says. He's a dwarf with piercing black eyes—like obsidian, Yuri thinks.

The young prince pulls up his mare’s head, from where she is supping on river water. “All right.”

And together, they ride on.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a hard time deciding where I was gonna put this in the timeline, but I ultimately decided to put it here, as you need information from the last two fics to make sense of this one, if you’re reading the series in order. Hope that's not too confusing!


End file.
